Twice Dipped Murder

by Daphne DeWitt

  Even if it was to the mayor.

  I knocked on the door again, conscious of the fact we'd been standing here for a few minutes without anyone answering.

  I shuffled the pies in my hand, hoping the caramel cream held up on this particularly stuffy night.

  I quirked my mouth to the side and got ready to knock again. This was getting to be ridiculous.

  The door swung open though. Mayor Hester stood in the doorway, dressed as though she about to compete in the Miss America pageant, complete with floor length ball gown and high heels. Honestly, she was a sash and tiara away from tearfully thanking the judges and her parents.

  “Took you long enough,” she huffed, turning on her heels. “The guests are here already.”

  “Guests?” I asked, holding the pies futilely in my hands, realizing that she wasn’t going to relieve me of them.

  “Sorry,” I said, turning to Mayor McConnell. “You’ll have to stay out here.”

  “Bring her in,” the mayor said, without turning around. “This is the one crowd that might actually enjoy that sort of thing.

  Mayor McConnell started growling at the doorway. “Be nice,” I whispered. “How is she supposed to know you’re a guy dog?” I bit my lip. “You know, besides the obvious.”

  I moved into the house, careful not to drop the pies. Though she had taken to calling this ‘the Mayor’s Mansion,' it really wasn’t. A two story colonial with a fresh coat of white paint and blue shutters, it was certainly one of the nicest houses in town. Still, a mansion was overselling it more than a little.

  Mayor Hester had a meticulous style and a penchant for keeping things in order. And that much really shone through as I made my way into the kitchen and sat the pies up.

  Though I was pretty sure no one would see this particular room of the house (save, of course, people like me) it was still spotless. The counters had dishes sitting upright and facing out; propped as though they were on display in some showroom.

  “I wish our place looked like this,” I joked, looking down for Mayor McConnell as I finished setting the pies on ornate dishes.

  Unfortunately, Mayor McConnell wasn’t there, which meant he’d snuck off without me knowing.

  …which also meant that he, in all likelihood he was- at this moment-snooping around the Mayor’s Mansion.

  “Oh come on!” I complained, stomping my foot.

  So much for my plan of getting in and out.

  Just as I was about to panic, I heard a yip and a roomful of chuckles.

  Was that…was that Mayor McConnell?

  I sprinted out toward the living room, the source of the noise, and found the mayor on his belly, yipping and wagging his tail. Look at that. He wasn’t snooping at all.

  Who is this and what have you done with my dog?

  There were two men in the room along with Mayor Hester. One was an older gentleman with one of those over the top twirly mustaches, and the other was a younger guy in a dinner jacket.

  The guy in the jacket was over Mayor McConnell, giving him a nice little tickle.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, shaking my head. “I thought he was going to stay with me. He’s usually so well behaved.”

  “It’s quite alright,” the younger man said, standing to meet me. “I’m Dr. Jessup Appleton.”

  He extended his hand to me.

  I took it, shaking it firmly.

  “Yes. Dr. Appleton is the official veterinarian of the Southern Skies Dog Show,” Mayor Hester said, splaying her hands out in front of her as she spoke the show name. “Quite the accomplishment. Wouldn’t you say, Ms. Redoux?”

  “Uh, sure,” I answered.

  Dr. Appleton grinned at me, letting me know that he didn’t necessarily believe the hype Mayor Hester was shoveling on top of him.

  “And this,” she started, motioning to the older man.

  “I’m Harold Hilbrook and, if you don’t mind me saying, that’s one splendid specimen of a Sitter you’ve secured for yourself.”

  That was certainly an eloquently put together sentiment.

  “He’s the color commentator,” Mayor Hester added, rolling her eyes.

  “Obviously,” I muttered, smiling politely.

  “He’s telling you the truth,” Dr. Appleton added. “He has interesting eyes. He looks like an old soul.”

  “You have no idea,” I answered.

  “You should consider merging your masterpiece of a mutt to our merry mélange,” Harold said, puffing his chest out.

  “A hometown competitor? Mayor Hester asked, her eyes flickering greedily. “What a novel idea.”

  “Mayor McConnell isn’t exactly a show dog,” I answered, nodding and staring at the Irish setter.

  “Maybe you should let the experts be the judge of that,” Mayor Hester answered. “Besides, having a hometown girl-even a recent transplant like yourself- involved in the competition might take the focus away from the unfortunate circumstance of the other night.” She glared at me. “Think of the town, my dear. Think of your responsibility to it.”

  “I mean…” I turned to the three of them and then back to Mayor McConnell. “How could I even do that? Don’t you have to jump through hoops to get into this sort of thing?”

  “Usually,” Dr. Appleton answered. “But, in addition to being the official in house vet, I’m also in charge of late entries. After what happened to poor Lionel, I’m sure the folks around here wouldn’t mind a distraction.”

  “Okay,” I answered, quirking my mouth to the side. “Just, let me think about it.”

  This was so strange. Usually, Mayor McConnell would be jumping out of his fur in protest. He wasn’t doing any of that now though. He just seemed at home here, with these people, at this place. Which, come to think of it, made sense given that he very likely used to live in this very house. The mayor’s mansion had stretched back over two hundred years after all.

  Still, did I really want to join a dog show with everything that was going on?

  “I need to go.” I shrugged. “Deliveries to make and all. I promise. I’ll think about it. Come on,” I said, motioning for Mayor McConnell to follow me.

  Insanely, he did as I asked and we made our way to the front door.

  Before I could reach it, I heard Dr. Appleton call for me from over my shoulder.

  “I promise, Doctor,” I said, sighing loudly. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  “I don’t care about the stupid dog show,” he said quietly, obviously trying to keep what he was saying between him and me. “And that certainly isn’t the reason I want you around.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “What other possible reason could there be?”

  “You’re Rita Redoux, the woman Wanda came to see.”

  “That’s me,” I answered, narrowing my eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You have to join the dog show,” he answered. “It’s the only way you’re going to figure out who did it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “The night before Lionel died, he called me. He said he was afraid. He wouldn’t tell me who, but he said that he thought someone in this show was going to hurt him.”

  9

  I asked Dr. Appleton to meet me the next day at a fruit stand between Second Springs and Harbor Heights.

  News outlets were starting to take root on Main Street and, given what he’d told me about Lionel’s phone call to him before he died, I didn’t want to take the chance on anyone seeing us.

  Besides, Sammie could only get half a day off and, this way, he could meet us in a timely manner.

  I thought about alerting Darrin to what was going on. After all we’d been through, I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t at least entertain a theory I was this invested in. But alerting him meant most likely alerting Angie. And I wasn’t concrete enough with any of this to bring her in on it yet.

  Also, Wanda was coming with me too. Having her and Dr. Appleton in the same place
and able to talk freely without having to worry about someone who may or may not have been responsible for Lionel’s death might help bring about some new clues.

  I pulled the dusty red truck Charlie gave me into the gravel lot in front of the fruit stand. The place was mostly empty, which was a sad indicator of the state of small businesses these days. But it was also a good thing for us. Privacy was important now, especially with cameras everywhere we looked.

  Wanda and I got out of the truck and perused the stand. The strawberries looked especially good as did the mangos. Why didn’t Peggy come here more often? Even if it was a little ways out of town, it would have been worth it for the freshness and the price.

  We had been there nearly half an hour when Wanda’s nervousness began to show.

  “I don’t think he’s coming,” Wanda said, looking over at me from across the pineapples.

  “He’s coming,” I answered, nodding my head and quirking my mouth to the side.

  “How do you know?” she asked, looking away. “We’ve been here forever. He said he wanted to meet us at one o’clock, right? It’s almost one twenty now.” She shook her head. “He’s not coming.”

  “I saw his face,” I answered simply. “You came to me because I’m good at this sort of thing, and I’m good at this sort of thing because I can read people. I read him. He’s coming.”

  A white BMV sped into the gravel lot as soon as the words dropped out of my mouth.

  A doctor’s car if I ever saw one.

  “Good call,” Wanda said, picking up one of the pineapples and putting it into a sack.

  “I’m full of them,” I answered. “You should see me predict the Oscars.”

  Dr. Appleton got out of his car and headed toward us. He was obviously out of place here, wearing snakeskin shoes and a long doctor’s jacket even though it was nearly eighty degrees out.

  I moved toward him, nodding to the old woman behind the counter and letting her know that I’d be back to pay for the berries and citrus I had picked up for the shop.

  She gave me a polite smile, and I marched toward him.

  “You’re late,” I answered. “And a little overdressed.”

  “Sorry. An English bulldog had food poisoning, and I didn’t have time to change before I came out. I suggest you stand downwind unless you like the smell of dog barf.”

  “Who doesn’t?” I grinned but moved the way he suggested anyway.

  “Mrs. Sulkin,” Dr. Appleton said, watching the woman walk toward us. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

  “And I’m sorry that you didn’t see fit to tell anyone about the warning he gave you until after he was dead,” she fired back.

  “I’m sorry about that too,” he answered, pursing his lips. “If I’d have known that anything like this would have happened-could have happened- I promise you I would have done everything in my power to stop it.”

  Sadness filled me as I watched the two of them speak. Tragedies like this had a way of hurting-not just the person it happened to- but everyone surrounding them as well.

  Wanda stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding. “I know that Jessup. I’m sorry. I’m just not myself.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” he answered, looking from me to her and back again. “My expertise is in animals, but it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that you’re in shock. You lost your husband, and none of it makes any sense.”

  He was certainly right about that, but I planned on getting to the bottom of it.

  “What did he say to you, Jessup?” Wanda asked, the pleading clear in her voice.

  “Exactly what I told Detective Redoux,” he answered.

  “Oh, I’m not a detective,” I answered. “And you can just call me Rita. But there must have been something else. Certainly, you asked him at least a question or two when he told you that he thought his life was in danger.”

  “See, that’s the thing,” he said as the three of us walked back toward the fruit stand. “I didn’t think his life was in danger, not really. Lionel was the best, the absolute best handler in the business.”

  “He was,” Wanda interjected, her tone equal parts pride and sorrow.

  “That meant he had his pick of employers and his pick of enemies.”

  “What?” I asked, shaking my head. “You’re telling me people hated him because he wouldn’t work for them?” I narrowed my eyes. “For a dog show?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Wanda said. “There’s good money in show handling. Lionel brought home nearly seven figures last year.”

  “Seven figures?!” I balked. I looked down at my bag full of fruits, thinking about the literal tens of dollars I’d get for the pies that these would make. “I think I went into the wrong business.”

  “This is a cutthroat enterprise, Rita,” Dr. Appleton answered. “There’s a lot of money at stake, not to mention bragging rights and future stud fees.”

  “Stud fees?” I blanched. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Oh no,” Dr. Appleton answered. “It’s big business. Best in Show can get upwards of ten thousand dollars for their…um…contribution.”

  “Really?” I asked, suddenly reconsidering my hesitation with putting Mayor McConnell in the show.

  “So you see, there’s a lot at stake here,” Dr. Appleton said. “Lionel Sulkin was the handler in North America. He’s won seven out of ten shows. Even with your lack of knowledge about the business, I’m sure you can see how huge that is.”

  “Obviously,” I answered. “But why? I mean, I’m sure he’s talented, but can’t anyone walk a dog?”

  Wanda gasped, and I knew I had misspoken.

  “It’s more than walking a dog!” She shook her head hard. “It’s an art! He speaks to the animals. He communicates with them in a way that I could never explain.” She lowered her eyes. “Or he did until someone couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Which begs the question of who,” I said, feeling bad for Wanda all over again. “If Lionel was so good- and judging by the camera crews I saw on my way to the gas station this morning, I’m sure he was-we need to figure out who would have motive to kill him.”

  “Everyone wanted to work with him,” Wanda said dramatically. “Literally everyone. Like Jessup said, he had his pick of employers.”

  “Right,” I said. “But how about, instead of looking at who might have been angry or felt slighted with him, we try to figure out who had the most to gain from his absence?”

  “Come again?” Dr. Appleton said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Anger is always a part of something like this,” I answered. “But, if Lionel was worried about this a full day or so before it happened, that leads me to believe this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. It was calculated. And murders from anger are almost never calculated. If I had to guess, I’d say this is about all that money you guys were talking about earlier.” I nodded. “With that in mind, the only real question is, who’s most likely to come into that money now that Lionel is no longer with us.”

  Dr. Appleton looked over at Wanda, his wide eyes matching her own.

  “Could it be?” he asked.

  “It must,” she answered.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I think ,” Dr. Appleton said, setting his jaw. “We know who’s responsible for Lionel’s death.”

  I heard a loud crunch behind me. I spun to find Sammie standing there. He had a huge smile on his face, marred only by the chunk of ripe green apple in his mouth.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he chimed. “Hope I didn’t miss anything.”

  10

  “I mean, I know I’m sort of new to all this detective work, but that seems like pretty thin evidence,” Sammie said after Dr. Appleton finished explaining things.

  Myra Plimpton was part owner of the country’s second largest tire manufacturer. She inherited it after her husband died in a skiing accident, and while she had no real desire for tires or the way they were made, she
certainly did seem to be okay with the vast amounts of money they made her.

  According to both Dr. Appleton and Wanda-and a quick Google search on my phone- Myra had a few different hobbies. She enjoyed fashion shows in Paris. She liked boating off the Florida Keys. And, perhaps more than that, she loved her dogs.

  She had entered more than ten competitions in the past year and a half since her husband died. Everyone seemed to be in agreement that Southern Skies was hers for the taking.

  That is, until Lionel Sulking decided to go to work for her chief competitor.

  “No one is saying we have her arrested, Sammie,” I said, picking up an errant melon to check its freshness. “We’re just working through clues here, trying to figure out our best lead. If this Myra woman really did have as much at stake with this as you guys say, then maybe she did have something to do with Lionel death. It’s as good an option as we have in front of us right now.”

  “Which doesn’t say much for our options, I guess,” Sammie answered. “But maybe you’re right. We should definitely look into it. The only question I have is how do we do it?”

  “Not we. Me. I’m entering Mayor McConnell into the competition,” I said, motioning to the good doctor. “Dr. Appleton said he could arrange it for me. From inside, I’ll be able to get close enough to everyone to hopefully figure out what’s going on.”

  “Or get yourself killed too,” Sammie said with more than a little concern in his eyes.

  I looked the officer over. In a lot of ways, he was like Darrin. Sure, he might not have been as sharp as Darrin, and he certainly wasn’t as weathered and tough as my father’s replacement, but he cared about keeping me safe. I couldn’t let him react to that concern the same Darrin had though. I needed to be in on this if I was going to get to the bottom of it. Besides, I had died before. It wasn’t anything new for me.

  “I’m not going to get myself killed, Sammie,” I answered, setting the melon down and giving him a comforting pat on the arm. “Dr. Appleton will be right there with me.”

  “She’s right,” he answered, looking from me to Sammie. “I’m there every day, looking over the dogs and making sure they’re healthy.” He nodded. “I can keep a watch on her too.”